Disgust
by The Emcee
Summary: Alfred was good at faking it; he was good at pretending to be happy and cheerful and he was good at acting like those hurtful, little comments didn't really hurt. But they did. Dear God, they did. UkUs. One shot. Complete.


Title: Disgust

Author: The Emcee

Summary: Alfred was good at faking it; he was good at pretending to be happy and cheerful and he was good at acting like those hurtful, little comments didn't really hurt. But they did. Dear God, they did.

Pairing: UkUs

Disclaimer: I own nothing

A/N: Yeah, I know it's been done time and time again, but why not add to the pile? Seriously, though, eating disorders are no laughing matter, so…yeah. That's all I wanted to say, I guess. R&R. Enjoy!

**~…~**

**Disgust**

**~…~**

It all started off with a comment that Arthur made. One tiny, little comment. But then, it always starts out that way, doesn't it?

"You need to lay off those burgers, Alfred. It's starting to show," Arthur had told him during one of the many world meetings the countries had.

Yes, others had told him the same thing, or something similar and a lot more harsh and cruel, but it was _Arthur_ that had said it. His Arthur. His boyfriend and former guardian, the man who had raised him, parted from him, and then became his lover. Alfred held his opinion above all others, even though he acted like he could care less. So when Arthur said that to him, Alfred took it very much to heart. He just didn't show it; he was good at that, after all.

After the meeting, in his hotel room in some fancy city in France, Alfred stripped off his shirt and gazed at himself long and hard in the mirror. Realistically, he was in good shape; he worked out and had some muscle – not a whole lot that made him look like he took steroids but enough to let people know he could put up a decent fight. But in his mind's eye, Alfred saw the same fat, ugly slob that Arthur always saw whenever he looked at him.

Unable to look at himself in the mirror anymore, Alfred put his shirt back on and exited the bathroom, doing his best to avoid anything that could reflect his image. He was going on a diet, no more burgers, no more soda, no more junk food, nothing but low calorie stuff. And exercise. A lot of exercise.

And that was how it started.

**~…~**

Alfred bought a ton of diet books the next couple of weeks following that world meeting. He also started up a food journal, writing down every little thing he ate and how many calories it contained and portion sizes and the times he ate. Naturally, he never wrote in his food journal in front of anyone else; he did that in private, away from prying eyes and loose lips. Just like he had told himself he'd do, Alfred had stopped eating burgers cold turkey and drinking soda too. In fact, anything that had carbs in it or fats was kicked out of his diet. And he started reading food labels, something that took him a little while to get into the habit of doing.

No one knew what he was doing and if they noticed anything out of the norm with him, they didn't say anything. Not one single person commented on why there was no burger in his hand when he walked into the meeting or why he wasn't slurping a ridiculously large soda or milkshake. Alfred didn't think anyone would; he wasn't well liked or overly important and he couldn't blame them for not caring. Hell, there were even days when he didn't eat at all; he just couldn't bring himself to care enough to.

But the sadistic thing was that all Alfred could think of was food! Food was constantly on his mind and he was always flipping through cooking magazines and recipe books. It was sickening and disgusting. _He _was disgusting. And he had no idea if his dieting was working. Whenever he looked at himself in the mirror, Alfred didn't see a damn thing he liked; all he saw was the fat slob everyone else saw.

Yet, the insults kept coming.

**~…~**

"Your food is overpriced and overcooked!" Arthur yelled at Francis during a meeting.

"Ah! How dare you compare me to Alfred's American crap?! Do I look fat and depressing to you?" Francis hollered back.

"Why not ask Alfredka? He would know the most about that, da?" Ivan put his two cents in.

"No! The last thing we need is him singing the praise of McDonalds," Francis said, looking horrified and disgusted.

"If he does, I won't save him if he starts choking on his food. Again," Arthur said.

It was like Alfred wasn't there. He was a spectator to their taunts and jibes, all of which stung his already fractured heart. Looking down at himself, Alfred felt himself turn pale and he had to exercise an extreme amount of self-control not to vomit. There was no doubt about it: he was positively disgusting. God, it was a damn miracle that Arthur was still with him. But he wouldn't be for long it Alfred didn't start taking his diet more seriously and upped the ante. Clearly, he was eating too much and he'd have to cut out a few meals if he was going to make any progress.

Sighing heavily, Alfred leaned his chin on his hand as he listened to the others argue.

**~…~**

"Are you alright, Alfred?" Arthur asked him while they were at lunch. It had been Arthur's idea, not Alfred's. Alfred tended to not go out anymore even though his mind was always on food. Best to stay away from temptation.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "Why do you ask?"

"You've hardly touched your food…" Arthur said, appearing concerned. "It's unlike you, considering you're usually shoveling food in your face."

That made Alfred wince, but he was good enough not to show it. Not outwardly. Oh no, he had had too much practice with that to be that slippery. And practice made perfect, or so they say. If only that applied to dieting…

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just…some stomach trouble. That's all," Alfred said.

Arthur stared at him for a moment before he shrugged it off and accepted it. For a brief, futilely hopeful moment, Alfred hoped that Arthur would say something about him possibly losing some weight or looking thinner, healthier, like he ought to, like everyone had been telling him for so long.

But Arthur didn't say anything and Alfred knew that he wasn't sticking to his diet as well as he had thought he was, despite the fact that he hardly ate anything except for one meal, if he ate at all. Obviously, he needed to get serious about this.

**~…~**

His pants no longer fit him.

Alfred frowned at himself in the mirror. Had he really made no progress? Was he so fat and undisciplined that he couldn't even stay on the diet plan he had carefully and meticulously crafted for himself? Apparently so because his pants didn't fit him right anymore. Great. Now he'd have to go out and buy new ones to fit his fat ass. Fantastic.

And what's worse is that tomorrow he was going to see Arthur after having not seen him for months. Both of them had been extremely busy, what with being countries and all, so they hadn't had any time to be together for a long while and they were well over due for some couple time. But Alfred hadn't really made much progress with his diet. His clothes no longer fit him anymore. Aside from that, he always felt sluggish and tired and had trouble remembering simple things, like not touching the stove when it's hot.

After he went out and bought some new clothes, Alfred showered and went to bed early, not feeling very well. He couldn't sleep, though, and he laid there in bed thinking about all of the things the other countries had said to him in the past about his weight.

_"Hey, fat ass!"_

_ "You're going to give yourself a bloody heart attack, you git!"_

_ "Stop eating so much and go run on a treadmill, you capitalist swine."_

_ "Because I only eat what I must in order to live."_

_ "Here. Have a tomato. They're better for you than those burgers you're always chomping on and I'll sell them to you for cheap."_

_ "You gross bastard! You're not even fit to eat a tomato!"_

_ "Ah! I can't eat that McDonald's garbage! It's so greasy and slimy and has no pasta at all! How can you eat something that has no pasta?! PASTA!"_

_ "Dummkopf! Maintaining a healthy diet and exercise regime will ensure that you're in good shape for whatever threat comes your way!"_

_ "I can't understand what you're saying! Would you please stop eating those disgusting burgers?!"_

Tears pricked Alfred's eyes and he curled up into a ball as the memories kept flooded into his mind from meetings past, filling his head with disgust and self-loathing. No wonder none of the other nations could hardly stand him! How could Alfred have let himself go so much? How could he be so blind? And clearly, he still wasn't doing well. Hell, he didn't even have that much energy to exercise anymore! God, he was pathetic, pathetic and weak willed and destined to fail. Why would anyone want a slob him?

Arthur was going to break up with him. Of that, he was sure.

**~…~**

"It's about time you open your door. I've been knocking and ringing your door bell for the past twenty minutes," Arthur grumbled angrily as he marched past Alfred into the house. "Did you forget that I was coming. You probably did. I should have expected as much, all-"

Arthur stopped talking abruptly. Alfred, who had barely gotten three hours of sleep, was rubbing the crust away from his eyes with his fist, gazing at the Brit with bleary eyes like a child still half asleep. He was still in his pajamas and he knew he looked like crap; he always looked like crap when he felt like crap, and boy, did he feel like crap. That was probably why Arthur had stopped talking so suddenly. Any minute now he'd start up, yelling at Alfred for not being ready and would force him to change and straighten himself up…

But it never came.

Blinking a few times, Arthur came into focus and Alfred saw, much to his surprise, the shock and blatant worry that graced the older nation's face. His green eyes were filling with tears and his mouth was hanging open slightly. Seeing him like that woke Alfred up completely.

"Arthur? What is it? What's wrong?" he asked, a cold fear beginning to grip him. Did Arthur now see him, really see him? Did he now see the gross being that Alfred had become? Was this the end of their relationship? Tears began to prick Alfred's eyes at the very thought.

"Alfred…you…" Arthur began, standing still as a statue. Alfred looked down at himself, released a humorless laugh, and looked back up at Arthur, tears streaming down his face.

"Yeah…I know. I've…I've let myself go. You were right; all of those burgers caught up to me," Alfred said, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably, scratching the back of his head. "But I have been trying…you know, dieting… I just need to really get into and-"

"Alfred. You're…you're skin and bones!" Arthur cried out before he closed the gap between them. He grabbed Alfred's wrist and…and when had Arthur's hands gotten so big? One hand could was wrapped around his wrist, something that Arthur hadn't been able to do before; not entirely, at least. Yet his thumb and index finger were touching each other. He was oddly fascinated by it as Arthur led him upstairs. And then he realized where Arthur was taking him…

"No! No, Arthur! P-please, don't do this!" Alfred cried, trying to break free from Arthur's grasp. But he couldn't; he was just too weak, too tired, both in body and in mind. "Don't look, Arthur! Please…please d-d-don't look…" His sobs rang throughout the house as Arthur steered him into the bathroom and turned on the light.

"Alfred, love, just…just _look_ at yourself," Arthur pleaded with him as he shoved Alfred in front of the mirror, holding him in place with arms made of steel. Unable to really resist, Alfred did was he was told.

"What do you see?" Arthur asked him, looking frantic and more worried than Alfred had ever seen him. Why was he doing this? Was he being intentionally cruel? Was this revenge for the Revolutionary War? It probably was. Alfred deserved it and so much more.

"I…I see a f-f-fat pig who…who can't stick to a diet to save his life," Alfred sobbed, his tears still flowing and his nose beginning to run and turn red. How could he sum all of it up into words in a way that would make Arthur understand? "I s-see someone who's so fat he can't even exercise right…" And then, his legs gave way. Had Arthur not been there, he would have cracked his head on the toilet. As it was, Arthur gently sat him down on the cold bathroom floor.

"Alfred…oh, my dear, sweet darling," Arthur said as he sat down beside him and pulled Alfred into his warm, protective embrace. Even though Alfred knew that they were breaking up, he still clung to the older nation as though his life depended on it. In a way, it did.

"Oh, Alfred. You are most definitely not fat," Arthur told him, his voice strong and sure and sincere. "You're…Christ, Alfred, you're so bloody thin! I can see your ribs! Your cheeks are hollow…your skin is yellow and dry…and your hair is dull and lifeless… Oh Alfred…why would you do this to yourself?"

That only made Alfred cry harder. Clinging desperately to Arthur, he choked out, "I'm fat, Arthur! I'm a fat, disgusting pig!" Arthur pulled him away from him and stared into his eyes. Alfred could only see love and sincerity and concern in those emerald eyes of Arthur's.

"You listen to me right here and right now, Alfred Freedom Jones," Arthur said, his voice stern but caring and loving and even a bit desperate. "You are many things, but you are most certainly _not_ a fat, disgusting slob."

"B-but you…you always told me I was fat…just like the others," Alfred said, not sure if he was quoting Arthur exactly. He couldn't really remember all of the things Arthur had said to him in regards to his weight, at least not right then and there. And since they had all said something to that effect, it had to have been true, right?

"Alfred, my love, I am so…so very sorry if I ever said that. I was never trying to be mean or to get you to…to do this to yourself. I was only worried about your health. But I never wanted you to starve yourself to death," Arthur said and pulled Alfred back into his arms, holding him tightly. All Alfred could do was hold on right back as tight as he could.

"I love you so very, very much, Alfred," Arthur told him. "And I would be devastated if you died because of this. Don't…don't leave me again, Alfred. _Please_ don't leave me again." Arthur ended with a broken sob. Alfred buried his face against Arthur's neck and nodded. He was struck speechless; what could he say to that? All he could think of was…

"I…I won't leave you again, Arthur. I promise."

_And a hero always keeps his promises, no matter how hard they may be to keep._


End file.
